


Days Don't Fade

by actualite



Series: Blue Collar [2]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualite/pseuds/actualite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian has trouble falling asleep after an unpleasant day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days Don't Fade

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Deliver Hope. Title is from the song by Lindbergh Palace.

Ian had been tossing and turning in bed for almost an hour. They were still using the same terrible old spring coil mattress with the dip in the middle that Salty had had in his apartment when Ian first came to live with him. They'd moved to a slightly nicer apartment since then, but they couldn't afford a new bed yet, and now, nearly four years later, Ian's back had begun protesting in earnest.

It didn't help that Salty was always out like a light pretty much the minute his head hit the pillow. Ian would squirm and shift and turn over, trying desperately to find a comfortable position, but always rolling back toward Salty, whose greater weight meant that the bed always dipped steeply to accommodate his big body. Ian would shove and push at Salty, trying to get him to move toward the edge so that the dip wasn't so egregious, and Salty would always move obligingly when he woke up, but then once asleep he'd always roll back. He said it was because he couldn't help it; he just wanted Ian to always roll back to him. Which, Ian often reflected, was a sentiment he couldn't really argue with.

But after a long day of trying to sell golf carts and utility vehicles at the sporting goods superstore, Ian wasn't really in the mood to be sentimental. It sucked, really, that after nearly four years of retail work in women's shoes, nutrition supplements, cars, and now lawn and garden equipment, he was still working a shitty job for ten bucks an hour and no health insurance. The problem, of course, was that people were idiots, and Ian had a bad temper, and when he didn't get fired for insubordination or telling off customers who wasted his time and blamed him for things that weren't his fault, he was quitting and walking out, because, he would tell Salty angrily, slamming into the apartment and flinging his stupid tie off, he couldn't stand it another minute.

Salty would look at him sympathetically as he sat on the couch, sipping a can of beer, his hair and all his clothes spattered with sealant and grout and covered in a layer of moldy white dust. A year and a half ago he'd seen an ad on the Internet about Grout Doctor franchise opportunities, so he'd decided to quit his construction job and pool his meager savings with a loan from the bank to attend a ten-day training event in Tampa and buy some patented tools and equipment so that he could become a certified tile and grout maintenance professional.

Ian made fun of him, calling him Dr. Salty and making snide comments about spending all his days wading in strangers' pubes to drill out moldy grout in their bathtubs, but the truth was that Ian was proud of and a little awed by Salty--for still having a dream, albeit a much more mundane one than the baseball dreams of their youth; for taking the initiative in making it a reality and being willing to risk everything he had on a new business venture; and for his perseverance and hard work in trying to make sure it would pan out. Salty worked very hard, going door to door at first to hand out flyers and coupons to get the word out, dealing with flaky customers who tried to squirrel out of paying or canceling jobs at the last minute, and having to work double when he made mistakes and had to do everything over, staying up late to do paperwork and take care of his books, which Ian helped him with a little bit, since arithmetic had never been Salty's strong suit. Salty worked evenings and weekends if he had to, saying yes to every job and coming home exhausted and discouraged many times, but things had finally started to pick up in the last few months. He had work booked out two and a half weeks, now, and even though Ian was a bit annoyed at not being able to see much of Salty because of how much he worked, he couldn't really be upset that Salty's income had steadily been increasing, enough that he was almost through paying off the cost of the equipment and classes and maybe even enough that they could start saving up for a house.

Today, though, had been particularly annoying. Ian had slept a couple of hours longer than he meant to, which always made him grumpy, and Salty was already gone on a job by the time Ian woke up a little before noon. He decided not to go on a run since his ankle was still bothering him a bit, even though he really needed to, he reflected, looking down at the little beer gut he was forming. Then he realized belatedly that he was supposed to be to the store by noon instead of his usual five o'clock shift, and he'd had to frantically call around to get someone to cover for him. After working out a deal to take on a double shift the next day, which would be hellish, he'd jerked himself off on the couch watching a fitness infomercial, but that was never very satisfying and he regretted it as soon as he'd finished, missing Salty and thinking about how it had been three days since they'd last had sex. When he'd tried to take a shower afterward the shower head fell off again, resulting in water spraying everywhere and Ian cursing up a storm. The entire bathroom floor was sloshing with water by the time Ian got the wrench out and was able to shut it off, and then he couldn't get hold of the landlord, because the landlord was never available to fix any problems, of course. There was nothing to eat in the apartment except a stale box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, Ian's least favorite cereal, but he ate it all anyway, feeling unmotivated to go out and get something else. Then he'd finally gotten dressed and gone to work at his normal five o'clock time, and he'd had two guys in the store who wasted two hours test driving MTVs only to cop out of buying one at the last minute because that particular model was electric and not gas-powered. After giving them what he felt was a very censored piece of his mind, he'd gotten pulled in for a talk with the manager on his attitude. He'd been on the verge of quitting again, but the thought of having to go back home and tell Salty that he'd thrown away yet another job when Salty was working so hard made him bite his tongue.

When he got home at almost 10 o'clock after closing and doing inventory, Salty was in bed already, out cold. Disappointed, Ian had gone to open the fridge to see if Salty had brought any food home, thinking he might have to go out again and get something to eat for dinner. To his surprise, there were four boxes of Chinese take-out all lined up in a row, and two fortune cookies on the counter. Salty must've been really hungry, Ian thought, and reached in to open each container. There were some pot stickers, some lo mein, General Tso's, and some broccoli beef, probably because broccoli was Ian's favorite vegetable. Salty was always so thoughtful, Ian reflected, getting out a fork and eating straight out of the boxes at the counter.

He played Call of Duty for a while after that, bathed in blue and green light from the TV, since he didn't want to wake Salty up by turning any lights on, and then after a couple of hours he got up, his back popping, and made his way to the bathroom to get ready for bed. Salty was snoring slightly, lying on his stomach with one arm dangling over the side of the bed. He was shirtless and had thrown all the sheets off the bed, since it was a warm night. Ian took his pants off and got into a t-shirt and then gingerly got into bed, rolling right to the middle, of course.

It took nearly an hour to finally start drifting off, Ian thinking wistfully of the early days when he'd been unemployed and all he had to do every day was wait for Salty to come home so they could go get dinner and then play video games together and have sex. They'd go camping or fishing on the weekends and sometimes to cookouts with Salty's family. Salty would do stupid shit like skipping a credit card payment so he could spend $500 getting an elaborate tattoo of Ian's name on his inner left bicep, a tattoo that Ian pretended to think was tacky but secretly loved. Or Salty would do something like bringing home a dachshund puppy because he thought it was cute and Ian needed the company, not giving any thought to how much dog food and vet bills would cost and how annoyed Ian would get every time the puppy peed in his shoes.

They had been living like children, but those had been some of the best months of Ian's life. Ian had been so burnt out after baseball and his marriage ended, depressed and aimless and wondering how on earth he'd fallen so far, but coming to Salty made it so that none of that mattered. Now, though, they were getting older, and Ian knew it was right that Salty was getting really serious about building something that could pay for their retirement, and he himself was trying to get over his immaturity and suck it up so he could get some kind of job with benefits. But if it meant they were never going to see each other, was it worth it?

Ian knew his parents thought that running away to Florida was some kind of last resort, his only option left, an easy way to cop out of life when the going got tough. But they didn't know, Ian thought. Hardly anyone did. Sometimes, very rarely, he would see two people together, and he could tell they knew what it meant to find this, to know that you were so tied to another person that nothing you did mattered but that this person would be waiting for you there at the end of the day, in your worst hour, at the end of everything. Ian's dad would tell him to grow up, but being with Salty meant that for the first time in his life, Ian was not afraid of anything. Salty wasn't a last resort for Ian. He'd been the good thing Ian could come to when he'd finally freed himself of everything holding him back, everything that had kept him from acknowledging the truth about himself.

At some point during these ruminations he drifted off, and he was in a deep sleep when suddenly he was awoken by the sensation of Salty's hand moving gently across his stomach and pushing his t-shirt up.

Ian scrunched his eyes shut, not wanting to open them, not wanting to know what time it was, because he could tell even without opening them that it was still the middle of the night and he had to be up early for his double shift the next day.

"Salty," he whined, curling up away from him. "I gotta be up early tomorrow."

"C'mon," Salty said coaxingly. "Please."

Ian was a little annoyed. He'd wanted to have sex before he fell asleep, not after, and apparently Salty thought he could just wake Ian up whenever and demand it when Ian had very maturely refrained from doing the same to Salty when he got home.

"Why didn't you stay up and wait for me if you wanted some?" Ian said, trying to ignore the warmth of Salty's rough hands, which were roving across Ian's chest and nipples. He was kissing the back of Ian's neck, too. Ian didn't want to get a stiffy because then he'd wake up for real and it would be impossible to get back to sleep, and being polite to customers would be even harder.

"I was waiting up," Salty said, working Ian's boxers down. "But then I fell asleep, and next thing I know you're lyin' here asleep next to me, too."

Ian groaned, but it was half exasperation and half pleasure, because Salty'd found his dick and wrapped his hand around it.

"Salty, no," he said half-heartedly, but his boxers were down around his thighs now, so he sighed heavily, reaching down to push them off all the way.

"Please," Salty said urgently, and Ian could feel he was hard, pressing against Ian's ass insistently.

"What's gotten into you?" Ian mumbled. Usually Salty was not one to initiate urgently in the middle of the night. Morning, maybe, when he could tell Ian was waking up, but not like this. "Too much General Tso's got you all worked up?"

"So you found the takeout?" Salty said, turning around and reaching for the lube, probably, which they now kept in a drawer after they'd been babysitting Salty's niece one time and had come into the bedroom to find her smiling as she played on the floor with the tube, lube squirted all over her.

"Yeah. I finished off the lo mein, hope you don't mind," Ian said, and then he hissed, his eyes still shut as he felt Salty reach down and start fingering him. "'S cold, Salty," he said, squirming.

"Only got the lo mein 'cause I know you like it," Salty said, his breath hot against Ian's neck, and Ian shivered in spite of himself, stretching a little bit. "Yeah," Salty breathed. "C'mon, babe, open up for me."

"Salty," Ian said plaintively, giving a little moan of protest.

"You're so good to me," Salty said. "I'm sorry, I just--we haven't in a while--"

"I know," Ian said, reaching down to give his dick a few tugs, starting to get excited in spite of himself.

Salty withdrew his fingers and Ian sighed, opening his eyes, knowing he had to get up on his knees if they were going to proceed.

"I'm only doing this because I love you," he said, and rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself up and feeling Salty move behind him in the dark.

"I know," Salty said, his voice low and smooth, and fuck if it wasn't a turn-on all by itself. "I'm so lucky. I'm the luckiest guy in the world." He was stroking Ian's lower back, his sides, his ass, and Ian started to tremble in earnest.

And then Salty pushed in, and Ian shut his eyes again, his upper body going limp and helpless, which was how he always felt when Salty was fucking him. It always felt a little different if he'd been asleep before they did it, every sensation just a little bit shocking, his body pulled from repose to sensory overload in a matter of seconds, and Ian let each sensation coalesce into an involuntary sound in his throat, less worried about letting himself squeak and moan under the cover of darkness.

Salty laughed a little, a sound that quickly devolved into a groan when he felt Ian tilt his hips and squeeze.

"Sometimes," Salty gasped, "I think I'm gonna fuckin' die inside you, Ian."

"No," Ian whined, "don't you dare."

"You feel so good," Salty said, quickening his rhythm and really starting to ream Ian the way they both liked it.

Ian could only make a noise that sounded kind of like "Nnghh," his jaw slack, drooling on the pillow a little and forcing himself to shut his mouth. His hands bunched into fists and he scrunched his eyes shut tight as he could, bracing himself against the force of Salty's thrusts, and it wasn't long after that he felt Salty come in him.

Ian let his knees slide back as Salty collapsed on top of him, trapping his own dick, which was still hard and throbbing, against the sheets. He was so tired, his eyelids still so heavy, but his whole body was pulsing urgently, and he made another involuntary little mewling sound, needing to come.

Salty roused himself to reach up and bury a his hand in Ian's hair, turning Ian's head slightly and leaning down to kiss him deeply. Ian turned over, still trapped between Salty's arms, and felt the smothering weight of Salty's affection, the way he pulled Ian's shaggy hair away from his face, the way he reached down for Ian's dick, almost rough in the eager way he handled Ian, making Ian feel flushed and urgent everywhere.

"I'm sorry I had to wake you up," Salty said, his voice so hot and close, making Ian strain up underneath him in supplication. "I just needed you."

Ian reached up to wrap his arms around Salty's neck, his eyes still closed, raising one knee so he could spread his thighs apart a little and give Salty a little more room to jerk him off.

"Sometimes I wake up and I gotta remind myself," Salty continued, nudging his nose against Ian's cheek.

"Of what," Ian said with difficulty, not really bothering to concentrate very hard when Salty knew just how to alternate stroking Ian's dick and pressing that place behind his balls.

"That you're really here," Salty said, kissing Ian's jaw. "That you love me. That you aren't going anywhere."

"Jarrod--" Ian said, opening his eyes.

"Shh," Salty said, cutting him off. "Just let me get you there."

So Ian did, he let Salty touch and stroke him until he came, let Salty draw his pleasure out of him and gather it all up, safe and shielded from the world there between their bodies.

Ian reached for Salty again and drew him down to kiss him, feeling Salty's beard scratch his face. "I love you," he said quietly. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Salty ducked his head and kissed Ian's neck and chest and under his jaw, and then rolled over behind Ian to spoon up against him.

"What time is it?" Ian said, not wanting to open his eyes again to look at the alarm clock next to their bed.

"Almost two," Salty said.

That meant it was Thursday already, Ian thought unhappily. He'd have to be up in a matter of hours.

Thursday, Ian thought again, a moment later. Thursday came after Wednesday. Why did he have a vague notion that Wednesday was an important day for some reason?

And then in a flash he remembered, and he opened his eyes wide, blinking at the wall.

"Oh, fuck," he said.

"What?" Salty said.

"Fuck, Salty, why didn't you--you should've said something! I can't believe I--dammit."

He turned around quickly, and Salty was looking at him, his big brown eyes looking bright even in the darkness.

Ian cupped Salty's face between his two hands, feeling terrible, and gazed at him for a long moment. "It was your birthday," he said softly. "And our anniversary. And I forgot."

"Aw, it's okay," Salty said.

"Is that why you--did you buy dinner for us?"

"Yeah, I thought you were gettin' off at five today for some reason and I was thinking we could have dinner together and maybe go out to a movie or something. But I guess I got your schedule mixed up."

"No, you didn't," Ian said, ashamed. "I forgot which shift I was signed up for and I overslept this morning. I didn't even--ugh, last week I even told myself I needed to get you something and then I just completely spaced it." He felt especially bad because he knew that even though Salty would forgive him, had probably already forgiven him, he loved special occasions and stupid presents and cakes and candles and balloons and all of that silly stuff that didn't really mean anything to Ian. He always did something special for Ian's birthdays, and Ian usually tried to mark Salty's birthday and their anniversary in some way, even if he wasn't very creative about party planning, just because he knew it didn't take all that much to make Salty smile and pick Ian up to spin him around, so happy to have the attention and thought lavished on him, just like a little kid.

"Don't worry about it, babe," Salty said, hugging Ian close and kissing his forehead. "You threw me a pretty great party just now."

"I didn't," Ian said, tucking his chin down into his neck. "I was being a bitch about you waking me up. I feel like such a shithead."

"Nah," Salty said. "I just miss you. Seems like we keep missing each other lately, even though we live in the same apartment. Feels more like roommates sometimes than..." He trailed off.

Than what, Ian wanted to ask. What were they? Boyfriends? Partners? Lovers? Every one of those words sounded stupid and inadequate, because Salty was everything to Ian and Ian knew he would be nothing without Salty. He had been nothing, back when Salty went out of his life and Ian had been too young and stupid to try his best to hold onto him. He wished he knew how to say it in words, all the things he felt, how grateful he was that he had Salty.

"Jarrod," he said quietly after a few minutes of silence.

"Yeah?" Salty said.

"Sometimes," Ian began, not knowing exactly how he would say what he wanted to say but determined to get it out somehow, "Sometimes I think about what kind of person I'd be if I hadn't broken my leg. If I'd made it to the big leagues and actually done it. I think about what that would've meant for me."

Salty stilled, watching Ian carefully. Ian hurried on, wanting Salty to understand.

"I mean, that probably would've meant I'd never talk to you again. Or if I did, if I got too desperate or sad, I'd try, but not until we were older, when things had gone past the point of fixing. Maybe you'd have been married, and I'd be on my third wife or something, and we'd have a bunch of kids with these other people. And everything would've been so messed up."

Ian looked at Salty straight in the eye. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

Salty didn't nod or shake his head, just continued gazing at Ian steadily.

"I'm saying," Ian said determinedly, "that I don't have one single regret. I think about being an All-Star or winning the World Series and being a millionaire, and even though that was all I wanted growing up, I can see now that none of it would've meant anything without you there. And I know we couldn't have done it together. Even if it had worked out for both of us, if we were both in the big leagues, even if we'd stayed on the same team with each other for our whole careers--we couldn't have become what we thought we wanted to be back then and still had _this_ , what we have now. Do you understand?"

Salty still didn't answer, but his eyes were so soft, Ian thought, choking up a little. Here they were, smushed together on a crappy mattress in a crappy apartment, Ian whispering the secret convictions of his soul in the middle of the night, and Salty could look like this, like he was grateful, like he still couldn't believe after four years that Ian had come back into his life. He apparently still didn't understand that from the moment Ian had seen Salty Ian had known, somewhere deep inside, that Salty was his fate, that he would be unable to take himself anywhere but where Salty was, that their lives would be forever entwined. And best of all, Ian had no cause to rue the fact that this was his reality, his destiny. He realized anew almost every day that he was lucky, that even though many people probably looked down on them or pitied them for their shitty jobs and depressing lives, they had something that hardly anyone else in the world did.

"Well," Salty said quietly, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled, "what more could a guy ask for on his birthday?"

Something about his face reminded Ian of that first birthday of Salty's that they'd spent together, when Salty came to the hospital and saw Ian for the first time in four years. Ian still remembered that moment vividly, seeing Salty appear in front of him, the way Ian's stomach had felt like it was dropping out from under him, the way his heart had been pounding in his chest and the blood had been rushing in his ears. Everything fell into place in that moment, and even though Ian couldn't say he hadn't looked back, looking back on his shattered baseball dreams wasn't the terrible exercise in bitterness and regret that everyone seemed to think it should have been.

"I love you, Salty, and I love our life," Ian said, knowing he had to say these things now because he wouldn't always be able to say them. "Happy birthday."

"Thank you, Ian baby," Salty said, and he leaned in to kiss Ian again.

Ian closed his eyes, tucking himself up against Salty's body, and they both fell sound asleep soon after.


End file.
